


Flagman Ahead

by shirleypositive72



Category: Twilight (Movies)
Genre: All Human, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirleypositive72/pseuds/shirleypositive72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bella doesn’t mind her commute.  In fact, it’s the best part of her day. All Human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flagman Ahead

I looked for weeks after I breezed into town for an apartment I loved. I looked in established communities. I looked in new developments. I looked in up-and-coming neighborhoods. Then I looked in my bank account. I needed to widen my search. It’s hard to be both picky and broke. Champagne tastes on a Budweiser budget, my dad always said. The motel was losing its appeal, however, so any new shoebox I could call my own would be a great improvement.

Once I found my little place in a not-yet-up-but-coming-soon neighborhood, it was time to focus on the job hunt. I sincerely hoped that search would be easier. Having blown all of the money I brought with me from my former life, I needed fast results. I was somewhat surprised that the bottom line on my savings account statement didn’t just read Get a job.

I had the degree, two of them, in fact. I had the perfect interview suit. I had a go-get-‘em attitude. I had no real chance at landing a teaching job in the local school system. Sure, on paper this little town had seemed like a good area on which to focus, but I discovered, in reality, a fresh new graduate does not hold quite the same appeal as an experienced teacher with a golden track record. Those golden teachers were my competition, and I lost. The local private school’s paid shit salaries but sounded better and better with each rejection I received from that higher tax bracket for which I was striving.

Enter desperate measures. There was a job opening; the notice on the website said so. They had to at least meet with me. And, really, what was one more no? Armed with my totally-worth-the-money Nikon D800 camera and a minor in Photography, I walked into the local community college like I already had a job. I walked out actually having one. Photography instructor, teaching bored, scrapbooking housewives and young girls who have wedding photographer aspirations how to point and shoot. Not exactly the goal I had set for myself, but it was a teaching job, and at a college, no less! Okay, a community college, but whatever. The pay, however, was quite good. Honestly more than I thought I’d be making. 

Things were going well. Apartment in a trending neighborhood, and an artsy job to go with it. I could tell my dad and my friends back home and from college that I had a teaching job, while I got to enjoy playing with my camera all day. My department head even encouraged me to continue to "explore my creativity and pursue projects within my chosen artistic medium." I now had the perfect excuse to wear my favorite knee high boots and my insanely large collection of scarves

– boho dressing as career choice. Sweet.

The one downside to living in my not-quite-there-yet neighborhood was the commute to the college. Not an overly long trip, but one with no alternate route. That in itself would be fine but for the road work that cropped up seemingly out of thin air while I’d been at my interview. And it looked extensive.

"Hey," I shouted to the flagman when it was my turn to be stopped just as he turned the sign. "This going to be a big project?"

"Yep. Months. Not really sure how long, exactly. They tell us one thing but it ends up being something completely different."

I should probably have said thank you at that point. Nodded my head in acknowledgement or something. Anything but what I did, which was gape open-mouthed at this guy. This tall, tan, muscled, dimpled, smiling, curly black haired, blue-eyed perfection of a man. He leaned on the windowsill of my car as he continued, rescuing me from mute embarrassment. 

"Yeah, my reaction, too. It’s frustrating." Well, if that’s what he thought my fly catching performance was all about, I wasn’t going to correct him.

"Uh, yeah. That sucks."

"Is this your commute route?"

‘Yes. Yep. Only way there and back that I’m aware of."

"Well, then. I’ll be seeing you," he said, pushing back from my Jeep.

"Okay."

"Um, it’s your turn to drive." And it’s then that I heard the horns blaring behind me. I finally noticed the sign in his hand no longer read STOP. Not embarrassing at all.

The following Monday, my very important teaching position job started. I should have been thinking about my lesson plan, such as it was, or my first impression outfit, or just what the hell I was gonna say. Instead, I was thinking about a certain road crew and its star flagman. And his hard body. Never had I looked so forward to a traffic jam.

"Yes," I whispered, accompanying myself with a small, inconspicuous fist pump. Traffic was stopped up ahead. But was he holding the flag?

"Good morning," I heard coming from a dimpled smile. "You’ve got an early commute, huh?"

"Hi. Yeah, class starts early."

"You’re in school?" I’m not sure if I’m offended by his surprise. I could still pass for a student, right?

"No, no. Instructor."

"Really? Cool. What do you teach?"

"Photography. At the community college." His eyebrows rose, and I was obscenely pleased that I’d impressed him. I was also insanely happy that he was wearing a wife beater under his reflective vest.

"Cool again. Hey, I’m gonna turn the sign now. Get ready." He smiled and winked, then turned the sign and waved. I waved back, thanking the flirtation gods that it was obviously an automatic response. Because, you know, he exploded my brain with that wink.

After the morning staff meeting where not a single thing of consequence was discussed, I made my way to my classroom. I seemed to have made a friend, unbeknownst to me, and she chatted non-stop all the way down the hall.

"… and my room is right next to yours. ‘Sandy Supervisor’ likes to keep all us ‘artsy’ types together. Easier to keep us ‘in line’." This chick totally spoke in quotation marks. I had no idea who Sandy was; our department head was named Joy. My confusion did not stop my new pal. "So, was that you in the black Jeep Wrangler this morning?" Random much?

"Yeah?" I was kind of scared to commit to an answer, to be honest.

"Did you come through the roadblock? Oh, my, did you see the road crew?"

"Yes, I did. One of them told me last week that it’s going to be a large project. It’s going to last a while, I’m afraid."

"Oh, I don’t mind," my dippy companion said. "I enjoyed the view."

"Me, too," I couldn’t resist saying.

"Bella," she said in all seriousness, "never doubt that God is an artist."

"Amen to that."

I really grew to enjoy my job. The students were diverse and interesting and eager. They worked hard at their assignments, and some of them produced art that was nothing short of beautiful. Sometimes even inspired. At least, it inspired me to pursue my one-time hobby with a little more dedication and imagination. My ditsy neighbor turned out to be Giada the Artist. Hey, if she could speak in quotations, I could think in capitals. Anyway, her work was amazing. She belonged in galleries not a classroom, but she was doing what she loved. Six weeks after classes started, we staged a little mixed media show in the school library. Student and faculty feedback was warm, and our work was well-received. We were grateful, and for the next show, we included works from our students.

But the real highlight of my days, what got me up in the mornings and had me agonizing over which scarf to wear each day, was flagman. A week after we first spoke, I learned his name was Emmett. The day after that, I remembered to tell him my name, too. A week later I took my first photo of him, as well as some of the others on the crew. These were the inspiration for the project that ended up in the show Giada and I staged, entitled Blue Collar. Two weeks after that, I realized that he had Thursdays off, and so I hated Thursdays. A week after that, I brought him a coffee on my way into work because he had commented the day before when he saw me sipping a latte on how not being able to have a coffee pot on-sight sucked ass. That was also the first time I heard him cuss. It was devilishly sexy. 

Time marched on, the leaves turned, the weather changed, Emmett wore more clothes, and the road work made miniscule progress. The coffee became a Monday morning thing. I invited him to the show, but he declined, saying it wasn’t really his thing. I understood. We chatted. We shared hometowns, small, unimportant details about our parents, pet situations. I wished I could see him with his dog. It became apparent after the first two weeks that no matter where my Jeep was in line, it was going to be the vehicle he stopped. I didn’t mind, but I suspect it pissed off one or two of my fellow commuters. Raised an eyebrow among his co-workers, too. And after two months, it happened.

"Hey, Bella!" It always made me smile so wide to see him happy to see me. Or something. Whatever. I was happy.

"Hey, yourself. Not raining today," I observed, making small talk while imagining running my fingers through his curls.

"Thank God. Four days straight is cruel," he complained as he reached my window. "Please tell me you have Monday coffee."

"Of course," I quipped, handing over the steaming cup of pumpkin-y goodness bearing a familiar logo. I never asked him if he wanted Pumpkin Spice Latte, and he never asked for one. I assumed that allowed him to feel his manliness was still secure.

"Thanks, Bella. You’re awesome, sweetheart." And he leaned into the car and kissed me. It was only on the cheek, but damn. Well, not really the cheek, more like mouth-adjacent. On the corner of my mouth. Caught just a tiny bit of lip. Oh, hell.

I blushed so hard I felt the heat rising inside the Jeep. His mouth fell open as he took a step back. And we both smiled at the same time.

"Bella?"

"Yes, Emmett?"

"Can I have your number?"

Three weeks passed before it was time to head home to Washington to spend Thanksgiving with my dad. In that time, Emmett and I kept our mornings much the same. We did, however, add texts to our friendship. He would send random pics from his post, highlighting the stupidity of our fellow man. I would send him quotes from Giada the Artist that I found particularly hippie-rific. A few times there were out-of-the-blue What are you up to? messages. I loved those. The Tuesday before the turkey, I was driving up to my favorite Stop sign in the world holding a bonus coffee for my friend Emmett.

"What is this? A bribe of some sort?"

"No. A peace offering. I have to deprive you of my perky presence until Monday," I joked, but he looked genuinely unhappy at the thought. Good.

"I’ll miss you, Bells." A nickname, ohmygod.

"I’ll miss you, too, Em." This time, I leaned out to kiss him. On the cheek. Well, mouth-adjacent.

The texts over the next few days were sweet. He asked if I had snow, lamented at being unable to taste the turkey I’d made after I’d sent him a pic, groaned about the number of family members vying for the drumsticks because they’re his favorite part. He called Thanksgiving night to tell me his town was so small that there was no coffee shop within twenty miles that sold Pumpkin Spice Lattes, and he was too afraid of what his brothers would say to admit he wanted one when his sister made a supply run. I smiled way more than normal, and my dad noticed, but he was his usual awesome self and didn’t ask.

Monday morning, armed with venti lattes, I drove with great anticipation toward the road crew. Emmett was right where he was supposed to be.

"Here’s your coffee, Em. I’ll never tell your brothers. Promise."

"One more reason you’re amazing. Welcome home. I mean back, I guess."

"No, you’re right. This is feeling more and more like home." His grin took my breath away.

"Listen, Bella. This is my last day on the crew for a while."

"What?! Why?!" Not good.

"My boss is shifting me to a different job."

"I hate that, Emmett. Is it a promotion?"

"Something like that. But I was wondering if-" Honking, really loud, right behind us.

"Ignore it for a second. Bella, do you want to-" More honking, louder, longer.

"Shut up!" He yelled at the impatient dude behind us then continued. "I’ve wanted to ask you for a while but-" HONK!

"Emmett, just call me later-" HONK HONK

"Shut the hell up! I’m trying to ask my girl out, damn it!"

I tried to hold it in. Honest, I did. But the laughter just bubbled up and out without even the smallest possibility of stopping it. Thank God, he joined me.

"Yes. I will go out with you. Name place and time and I’ll be ready."

This time we reached for each other and kissed. On the mouth.


End file.
